Of Ants and Cartoon Physics
by FountainPenguin
Summary: Beth squinted. "You think Heather has what now?" "A retractable set of nails just under her regular ones." Trent reached across the table, upturning his hands and making little twitches with his fingers. "Like cat claws. In and out with a flick. Curled into points at the tips, all eight of them … Biggest plot twist of my freaking life." (Written September 2015)


Enormous sweaty hands clamped around my stomach and ripped me from my bedcovers, leaving a nest of tangled yellow shreds in my wake. I was so startled that I forgot to even scream. One middle finger rubbed the drowsiness from my left eye. When I tried to breathe, I was greeted by a dark, muscular elbow tight around the chest.

"Wha… Chef Hatchet? What's going on?"

Chef didn't answer at first, but lifted one of my arms and then the other and then each leg, rolling up all the sleeves. His dark eyes scrutinized my skin like he was searching for the treats Heather and I had smuggled from his kitchen two nights before. She'd never thanked me for the help, come to think of it. Of course, she hadn't said a word to me since I'd stepped on the island at all, and to be honest that was more than all right with me.

Too sleepy to much care if he found a speck of evidence on my pajamas, I took advantage of the moment to blink around the dim cabin. The door had been thrown open, despite the fact that Trent always made sure it was locked when Lights Out time rolled around. Owen still snored in the bunk across from mine. If Chef suspected anyone of snitching food, he should be searching him. The big guy still had marshmallow sauce smeared all over his lips.

Hmm. And above Owen was Noah's old bunk, with bags and messy blankets thrown over it to conceal the remaining contraband treats. If Chef caught sight of those, I wondered who he'd bust: me, with my candy cravings; Owen, who was, well Owen; Izzy, who'd already snuck midnight snacks three times this week alone; Heather, who had been the only one to get caught on camera, and whom he'd already chewed out thoroughly for it; or Trent, who…

… Trent's bed was empty.

"Um, Ch-Chef?" I stammered as he yanked my shirt up to my neck. "I'm starting to not be okay with this anymore."

Chef tilted my body from left to right, still squinting even in the dark. He flipped me over onto my stomach to give my back the same examination. Finally, as I started to whimper Owen's name and something about legal rights I hoped I had, he tugged my pajama shirt back down.

"You're clean, skimp. Thank goodness for that. I was not lookin' forward to fuelin' up the plane at this time a' night."

"Uh, sure. No worries, dude, heh heh." My eyes darted up to Noah's bunk. "So, um… What's up?"

"Don't you 'What's up' me, dirty maggot!" Chef clutched me to his chest, breathing peach-scented breath into my hair. "I am not gonna lose another one."

"Lose anoth- WHOA, whoa, d-did somebody _die_?" All of a sudden, I realized that I wasn't sleepy anymore. "What is going on? Actual bears? Rabid raccoons? Drowning? Sharks? Sharkcoons? Holy- Was it Trent? Is that why he's gone?"

On cue, a high screech pierced the night. Not Trent, at least, unless Trent usually screamed soprano. Owen kicked the baseboard of his bed, snorting in his dreams.

Without asking permission or anything, Chef tucked me beneath his arm and stomped back across the cabin. "Pasty-faced mothball couldn't let that televised diary readin' go. Just went and dumped a whole farm a' red ants all over the cat-clawed witch's bed."

"Ants?" I grabbed Chef's enormous knuckles, skimming the floorboards for any sign of scuttling legs. A lizard vanished beneath Trent's bunk. "Uh, I'm seriously aller-"

"Producers know all about'cha allergies." Even though the door was already partway open, Chef gave it a swift kick, and the knob flew out into the campground. He cleared the steps in a single leap. My teeth slammed together when we landed. "Legal department called and warned us we gotta keep track of your sorry butt 'til the whole situation gets back un'na control. Bunch a' nonsense, if you ask me. Island's crawlin' with millions of the filthy bugs anyway. Few dozen more on the other side a' the cabin wall shouldn't incite anythin' new. Do I look like a babysitter to you? Do I?"

Was he … was he actually getting choked up?

"N-no sir." As Chef walked, I rubbed my eyes again and squinted out at the lake. Near the spot where the dirt faded into the dock, Chris himself had found a boulder to stand on, his hands linked behind him. Trent stood on a smaller rock to his left, mimicking our lovable host's posture perfectly, although when he realized he was doing it he'd probably drop to the ground in fetal position and count to ninety-nine twice over.

… Actually, I think my squinting had less to do with trying to make out the two dark, flailing figures on the beach and more to do with protecting my eyeballs from the reek of sweat squeezing from Chef's armpit. A clammy wetness was already seeping across my back.

"Hey, is that Heather screaming down there? And Beth? I thought she cou-"

"Chef? Chef, gosh!" When Harold spotted us crossing the grounds, he didn't waste time. He streaked to our side as though propelled by the wind, fists and teeth all clenched, glasses askew, red hair mussed up on one side. "My ants! They're everywhere! Gwen completely wrecked their farm. On _purpose_! Idiot!"

I couldn't resist a chuckle. "Nice pajamas. Cowboys and yellow suit you, somehow."

"I am not cleaning this vermin-hole up again!" Chef grabbed Harold by the back of the neck and shoved him in the direction of the main lodge. "The broom's in there someplace. You can drop the glass shards in the orange bin with all the others, and then you can start layin' down the poison."

Harold clapped a hand over his chest. "Poison? Gosh, these are my _children_ we're talking about here! I can name every one of them and everyone in their family tree. That farm cost me thirty-"

Chef made a deep growl down in his throat. His arm tightened around my stomach. I shot Harold an anxious glance, and this time he got the message. He adjusted his glasses, gave the Gopher cabin a contemptuous sniff, then darted off.

"Uh, Chef?" I inspected the dirt as best as the faint moonlight allowed. A pair of beetles wrestled over a crumb of bread while a third looked on with feigned interest, but there were no ants scurrying about that I could see. "Are you going to put me down now?"

Chef ignored my question. If anything, he hiked me higher. "Yo Chris! Where'd you send those interns? Why weren't they scrubbin' tiles last time I checked on the bathrooms like they were supposed to?"

"Interns?" Chris slid down from his rock, dabbing tears from his eyes with the end of his sleeve. "They're… taking care of Heather." He grinned at me. "Sorry, Cody dude. Hope we didn't _wake_ you."

I sighed.

"Where do you want me to leave this grub?" Chef asked, patting me on the head.

Chris encompassed the whole camp with a sweep of his arm. "Eh, so long as he's out of death's jaws, I don't really care. Just toss him anywhere that looks relatively…" He paused as if the word was painful for him to get out. In a mumble, he finished with, "…s-safe."

Chef hesitated. "We should take him with us back to craft services."

"Cody!" Trent hopped down from his stone too. He started to walk towards our group, but we all turned to look at him and, suddenly realizing that he was the only bare-chested one in our midst, Trent stopped and folded his arms. "Uh… What exactly is going on here?"

I said, "Gwen has ants."

"That's… not… less confusing."

"We're not taking him back to craft services," said Chris, planting both hands on his hips and staring up into his co-host's face. Over the sound of Heather swearing revenge on Gwen down the dock, he said, "It's our retreat. Not theirs. End of story."

"I'm just sayin'. Those rooms are plenty far, they're practically bug-proof, an' it's a'ready ten 'til midnight. It'd only be for a few hours, an' in the morning we could spray the Gopher cabin down."

"He's a _contestant_. Need I remind you that we signed a contract when we scored this gig?" Chris pulled Trent into the circle by the wrist and waved his hand in the air. "Dude, we can't sleep within twenty meters of the contestants anytime, anywhere, anywhy."

Chef scratched his head, sending dandruff flakes raining on the back of my neck. "Then where's he s'posed to sleep? He sure ain't goin' back in _there_. The girls' half a' that place was swarmin' in ten seconds flat, an' that wall in the middle ain't exactly-"

"Look, I couldn't care less just what you do with him, so long as you don't take him to my _private_ quarter of the island or get him gruesomely killed, okay? If something like that happens and word gets back to Elaine and Isaac about it, they will castrate me and leave my mutilated husk of a body floating in the Hudson Bay as food for the fishes." Jolting suddenly like he'd been static-shocked, Chris glanced at a camera nestled in a nearby bush. He crossed himself three times, and then again for good measure.

"What?" asked poor Trent, massaging the place on his cheek where his wrist had hit after Chris had let him go. He stared towards the cabin, no doubt wondering how _he_ would sleep when he went back to bed.

"But…" Chef twisted to look down at me, still stuffed beneath his damp arm. "He's so pathetic."

I tried to look as pathetic as possible. Which luckily wasn't hard since it's an expression I've become well practiced at over the years.

Chris grabbed his dark hair with both hands. "Chef, no! No pets! Once you rescue it and offer it shelter, it will want to come back, and the more it comes back, the more emotionally attached to it you will become. And the more attached to it you become, the more concerned for its safety you will be. And the more concerned about its safety you are, the less drama this show will have, and when the show has no drama, we get fired. And when that happens, the paychecks stop coming. _Capische_?"

"Um… Guys? I'm still listening."

With a snort ("What, you think we hand out medals for that?"), Chris climbed back onto his perch. Heather had pulled herself onto the end of the dock, a silky flop of hair dripping into her eyes. She sat there, shivering in her pink and white pajamas. Beth knelt beside her, both hands raised as she murmured soothing words. Hm. That would make a good sketch, actually.

"Huh," grunted Chef. He swung around, sending my legs slapping into Trent's chest. I called an apology, which Chef seemed to think covered enough for both of us. Without offering up anything else, he made his way towards the one building in camp that still had a light glowing at the entrance- the main lodge, with its sturdy door that even Chef didn't try to kick down. Harold must have come and gone with the broom, because he was nowhere in sight. Okay, well, at least the dining hall had long tables and benches lifted off the ground. Surely that would be safe enough.

As Chef finally dropped me on the nearest table, I spotted a line of marching ants disappear into the floor.

"Um-"

Chef poked me in the chest. "Now, I am gonna whip up somethin' ta stuff in that scrawny system a' yours, maggot. I expect you to keep your butt firmly planted on this here table and well out of harm's way while I take my eyeballs off your sorry skin. We'll get some stupid EpiPens shipped over by morning."

"No p-prob, dude. Uh, I mean… y-yes sir, Chef Hatchet sir."

"Er, can somebody tell me what's going on?"

"And what are you still doin' out a' bed, shower-boy?" snarled Chef, rounding on him. "I don't remember ever givin' you permission to frolic around after Lights Out. Do you remember me saying anythin' of that nature? Do you?"

Trent flattened himself against the door, quivering hard. "Aw c'mon, man; c-can't I stay here with Cody tonight? Just for awhile, until the ants calm down? The Gopher cabin is my cabin too."

"That sounds great," I said, glancing towards Chef. "I could really use someone to watch my back, heh heh. I'd hate to wind up like Heather."

Chef eyed Trent like he suspected he might really be an entire colony of vicious ants in disguise. Unhappily, he nodded his assent and headed to the back of the dining hall. The swing of tiny green doors and he was gone.

"Dude." Trent came around the table and settled himself on the squeaky end of the bench. "What's up with him?"

"Beats me. He's acting like he just saw me laid out in my own casket. You don't think he actually like, _cares_ if we die, do you?"

"Heh. He sure looked like he did when he took your side against Chris. I honestly can't decide if that makes me more or less scared of him. I mean, I can handle _Chris_ throwing us to the sharks. But I'm not sure how to feel if the one guy here who is actually concerned about my well-being is the same guy hurling knives and threatening to grind me into oatmeal if I don't stop trying to attach the ATV motor to the red jet ski." Trent tucked his hands in his armpits with a sigh. "I don't suppose you have another shirt under that. It doesn't look like I'll be getting any of mine from the cabin anytime soon."

"Sorry, dude." He frowned, so I uncurled from my ball and leaned forward on my palms. "Hey, who invited the long face to my big bash? You're not self-conscious about this, are you? C'mon man; the girls aren't here and the audience has seen you without your shirt already. Anyway, it's just us and we're both guys. We're cool, right? What's there to-?"

Trent tightened his arms around his stomach.

Oh.

He _was_ self-conscious of his bare chest. Because it was me. Because of…

A plague on your house of cards, Noah. Three days since we'd shipped him out and he was still ruining my life. And instead of even apologizing for the incident that was _totally his fault to begin with_ , he'd chased me around the cabins until he'd grown too exhausted to continue (which for Noah was about a lap and a half) and into a corner in the bathrooms, where he'd then rewarded my pleading for mercy with a brutal kick to the shins and the longest spiel in history about that time he'd asked a girl out during sophomore year. Worst friend ever. Adding insult to injury, it hadn't even been a _good_ spooning. I was so not sorry for voting Captain Criticism out last time.

"You've gotta be kidding me." I pushed my bangs back with both hands. "Dude, c'mon! You know me better than that, right? Remember first day, when we stayed up until three listening to the girls gossip next door? And you said you thought Heather had pretty eyes, and I said I liked Katie's smile almost as much as Gwen's and wished I could get her away from Sadie for just five minutes? And finally Leshawna yelled at us 'doe-eyed perverts' to keep it down, and Noah shouted 'Amen', and it was so late that we laughed for like fifteen minutes straight before we fell asleep?"

Trent didn't respond, so I shook my head and plunged on. "Seriously man, I'm straighter than an arrow, heh heh. And trust me- being a psychologist's kid, I can pretty much confirm that Noah's as asexual as a dandelion, even if he won't admit it to himself yet. If that in itself weren't enough of a turn-off for me, he's an absolutely selfish brat who always looks straight through me when we talk like I'm dishwater. Such a pig. He's exactly the kind of person I would never date even if I _were_ into… You're not buying this, are you?"

"I'm just… cold."

He didn't believe me! The stony stare in his cold green gaze said that he legitimately believed I was bluffing! Disregarding the fact that this was my own life we were talking about here and I knew my feelings better than anyone. Oh man, oh man, I needed to get one of the girls to kiss me on camera. And fast. Gwen would be my ideal, of course, but at this point I'd take anyone.

It turned out that I'd spoken too soon about Trent and I being here without any girls around. Sensing magically that I had let such a prayer float up to heaven, the main door creaked open and Beth poked in her head. Water cascaded from her thick glasses, onto her long green nightgown and over her round cheeks, which pinkened as she spied Trent sitting there without his shirt on. The wetness had turned her cinnamon hair muddy brown. Her ponytail was down, her messy curls tangled with sand and lake plants, and her face was pockmarked along one side with itchy-looking red sores. She smiled awkwardly, took one tentative step, and slipped backwards in the puddle that had formed at her feet.

Okay, so maybe I'd exaggerated when I said I'd take _anyone_.

"Aw, Beth, what happened to you?" Once Trent smashed an ant that had been crawling near his elbow, I slid from the table and onto the bench beside him. "You look like you've been dragged backwards through all seven levels of, um…"

You just… you didn't say questionable words in front of Beth. I mean, I was going to use the word in a way even my mom would've considered acceptable, and I _still_ couldn't bring myself to let it slip when I faced those little brown-black eyes. She kinda had that effect on all of us, I think, this… this aura of purity about her that always made me feel like if I ever dared to voice even the lightest scrap of profanity in her simple, humble presence, my words would be bleeped out midair. I'd seen even Duncan check himself when she strayed too near. He'd stammered a whole lot of words that all began with 'sh' and then slapped himself in the forehead when he was done, settling on 'sugar' and incapable of voicing the one he'd actually been groping for. Beth was just… Beth was…

Well, Beth was the awkward little sister none of us totally wanted around but all of us kept a hovering gaze on out of the corners of our eyes, daring one another in silence to offend or make a deliberately aggressive move against her. At which point, I had a sneaking suspicion, we'd all try to jump to her rescue at once, and beat each other to a pulp while we were at it.

"I feel like I walked straight through Hell and out again," she grumbled from the floor.

So much for that.

"You look kind of awful," I finished lamely.

"As I _should_!" Beth got back to her feet, swiping ants and sand from her nightgown. "The whole cabin is totally flooded with bugs. _Thanks_ , Gwen. You're certainly a real friend." She made some whimpering noises as she flicked one last ant from her shoulder. "Lindsay bolted for the woods, and I don't blame her. I thought that maybe we'd died and some demons of the apocalypse were coming to claim Heather's soul. That's the biggest, most overcrowded ant farm I've ever seen in my life! Which idiot was put in charge of real estate?" She ground her teeth, spraying spittle. "Leshawna went chasing after her- Lindsay, I mean. I hope they don't get lost. I mean, Chris said it's bear country."

Yeah right, or they would've broken into our candy stash ages ago. It was kinda understood between all of us that the opening safety lecture existed purely so Chris and Chef could mess with our heads, and I'd tuned out most of it.

I knit my brows as Beth stalked over to join us, holding her dripping arms out in front of her. "Um," I said, "So Gwen's still in the cabin, then?"

"Yep."

"… Getting eaten alive?"

"Probably. I say that's just what she deserves." Beth stuck her forefinger and thumb in her mouth. "But thee's got Ithzy with her thtill, tho I'm thure thee's fine. Ugh. I left my retainer in the cabin."

Trent frowned. "You know what Gwen didn't deserve? Having Heather read her private diary aloud on international television."

"Ditto," I said. "That was a low blow, even for Heather."

Beth realized why we were glowering at her and leaned back in her seat. "Hey, that so wasn't my fault at all! Heather never told me she was planning to do that. If you remember, Cody, I believe that while she and Lindsay were poking around our cabin, I was helping you track down Gwen."

"That you did, that you did. You have my thanks again for that." While Trent frowned at me this time, I stuck one finger in my mouth. Then took it out again and pointed Beth's way. "Sorry. I really shouldn't be picking on you, with a face like that and all, heh heh."

"Dude," Trent said, his frown morphing to a panicked scowl. "Not cool."

"What?"

"It's okay, Cody. I got what you meant." Beth placed a hand to her ant-bitten cheek and sighed. "They itch _so_ bad. And the interns couldn't find enough cream for both me and Heather, and she called dibs."

Okay. Yeah, that wasn't cool. I gave her a gap-toothed smile of pity. "Well, that does suck. Sorry you had to get dragged into this. I'm sure Gwen didn't mean it. She just wanted revenge on Heather. Heh, I'm just lucky I didn't get swarmed too."

"You're welcome," she grunted, running her nails up and down her jaw.

Trent knocked his knuckle against the wooden table a good eight or nine times. "You should dab some toothpaste on those. It'll quell the itchiness, especially if there's peppermint in it."

I feigned surprise. "Why, Trent, that's awfully nerdy of you to say. Way to overcome functional fixedness, broham."

He turned red. "My niece taught me that."

"That's so cool you have a niece." Beth beamed. "I'm an only child."

"Me too, heh heh." We shared a little smile. Even though Trent tried to join in, I think Beth and I both knew that the smile was just ours. It was an understanding smile; a smile that said, _Yeah, I went through all the same lonely days, the same scary nights with no one to share a room with or even really talk to. No one to play with or stick up for me or trip me down the stairs or even throw the blame on when I broke the one antique in the house that somehow ended up in the middle of my game._

"So." Beth plopped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "What is up with Chef? When he tossed the ant cream out the back window, he was practically in tears. He snapped something about you not dying?"

"I'm so badly allergic to ant bites. Red and black. Doesn't help that I get… squeamish about squashing bugs, heh heh. Apparently we don't have EpiPens in camp anymore. I blame Noah- he hordes those like they're candy corn. Anyway, the legal department called Chris and said that if I died then they'd castrate him or something, so he had Chef fish me out of the cabin before anything could get me."

Trent pulled back in his seat, clinging to the table and gazing up at the ceiling. "The world makes a lot more sense now."

"Oh, I totally understand about the squeamish thing. Our first day here, Lindsay so overdid the bug spray in our cabin. I couldn't breathe all night and I thought I was going to die." Beth gave me a sheepish grin. "But I couldn't blame her. I'm _terrified_ of little things with legs. So creepy!"

"Heh heh. Sounds like we're a match." I stuck my thumb in my mouth.

"Dude, your whole hand is going to be a raisin in the morning," Trent said, and Beth added, "Are you doing all right, Cody?"

"Not really." I popped the thumb back out just long enough to answer her. "Just thinking about all those ants has wound me up like a ball of yarn. I wish I had my sketchbook and a few bars of chocolate. That always calms me down, heh heh."

"Hmm. I don't know about chocolate, but if your book is in the cabin, I can get it for you." Beth slipped off the bench. "Chef kicked your door down. I'll just dart in and out before the other boys even know I was there." She paused then. "Well, before Owen knows I was there, anyway."

"Would you? Ants and all? Oh, I'd so owe you one. It has a red cover and a black spiral. I keep it under my pillow. My pens are there too, in a sandwich-sized Ziploc bag. You'll see it."

"A-okay." Thumbs up. She left. I leaned back on the bench and folded my arms behind my head.

"Oh, shoot. Don't move, man." Trent slammed his hand against my shoulder and swiped hard. I swear at least five ants went flying to the ground.

" _Ah_! Am I bit, am I bit?" I yanked up my sleeve, shooting off a final prayer, but when Trent couldn't find any swelling sores, I rolled it down again and drew my knees up to my chest. "Oh man, oh man, I'm really not sure I'm gonna survive the night… Um, if I don't, can you make sure my parents remember they had a son, and they sent him off to summer camp? It's been a week and a half, so they've probably forgotten I exist, heh heh."

"We ain't gonna let ya die, scrawny child," Chef grunted, at last returning through the swinging kitchen doors with a bowl of some sort of brown and white paste. This he set down in front of me, along with a spoon, almost like he thought the paste was edible. "Worst case scenario, I rev up the plane. We got a fine infirmary on the other side of the island for when things get desperate. Built it myself."

"Really? Huh. I didn't see anything like that during our 20K. Did you, Trent?"

"Got me."

Chef crossed his arms. "'Course not. It's s'posed to be secret, 'cuz once you land your sorry butt in there, you ain't comin' back."

Trent and I gulped in unison. "You mean-?" I began.

" _Darn_ , no. We don't kill you. Grub-headed cheeseballs. What kind of show you think we're runnin' here?" Chef rolled his eyes. "Homeschooled hick? Li'l Miss Muscle-Chops? Sports-challenged bookworm? Good-lookin' Hawaiian kid? They're still on the island, ya dolts. We just shipped 'em over to the far side 'til the modelin' challenge and finale come up. They got a fully-stocked five-star hotel, pool, smoothie bar, jacuzzi…" He stopped short. "Oops."

"Smoothie bar…" Trent said.

"Jacuzzi…" I said. We shared sideways glances.

"Ya'll maggots didn't hear nothin' out a' me." Chef glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen like he expected to find 'Elaine' and 'Isaac' glaring down at him. "Don't spread it, or I'll whoop your tighty-whites. I got the musket I took to war stashed here in my freezer."

"No, no need, heh heh! It's cool, dude!" Quickly, I picked up the spoon and began prodding at the paste in the bowl. It made a sound like _mlurp_.

"Oh, man!" Trent clapped a hand over his mouth. "How long were Eva and Zeke alone before Noah got there to intervene? … On second thought, since it's Noah, it shouldn't matter. She'll have torn him to shreds by now!"

"Um, there are cameras there, right, Chef?"

"One. At the drop-off dock." On that final note, he went back into the kitchen, the swinging doors rattling like bones behind him.

Ezekiel had made those awful comments in front of the girls, but he didn't deserve to struggle for the rest of his life without limbs. I was just trying to block images of his mangled body from my mind when the main door opened, and Beth returned with my sketchbook and bag of pens. "One bundle of comfort items, as requested."

"Sweet!" I dropped my spoon back in my mush and slid it aside. "Thanks, Beth. You're a lifesaver. I hope the ants didn't eat you up too bad in there."

She sat down across from me and propped her fists against her cheeks. "Oh, it's not like I haven't faced them before. I'm the farm girl, remember? No big deal. What do you draw?"

I shrugged and started paging through my book. "Oh, a little bit of everything. People, mostly." Gwen, mostly mostly.

"Hold on." Beth put out a finger to pause my flipping on a quick sketch of Katie, Sadie, and Tyler I'd scribbled during the Awake-a-Thon. "Wow, that's like… No, you seriously got them _perfect_. Do you think… Could you draw…?"

"You?"

Her neck turned rosy pink. "Um, I mean, if that's okay."

"Sure. On the house." I made it to a blank page and took up my thickest pen. Tilting it so she couldn't see me work, I started inking lines. "This'll come out a little better if you don't move. Don't worry- I'm quick."

"No base sketch?" Trent asked after a quiet moment, elbowing my bowl of slop away so he could lean in. "No holding up your thumb for measuring?"

"Mm, sometimes I do those things. They help. Wasn't feeling it this time around, though. Hope you don't mind."

Beth raised her eyebrows above the rims of her glasses. "Not at all. But, what if you mess up or change your mind about something? I mean, if you only use pens."

I swapped my thick pen for my thin one so I could finish her hair and the freckles on her throat. "Oh, trust me. When it comes to stuff like this, I don't mess up, heh heh."

"True. I guess nothing in art is a mistake."

"And… One last minute… Hang with me… There." I passed my book across the table.

"Already? Wow. You _are_ super fast." She went silent. One nail traced down the quick side ponytail I'd thrown on the page (Nailed it, even without a ref in front of me). I wouldn't say it was my best, but it wasn't too shabby a bust for five minutes' work. "Thanks, Cody. I love it. No one's ever drawn me before, and this is awesome. You must practice for like, hours."

"Practice? Yeah." I shrugged. "Not tons, though. Art's my gift."

Trent pumped his fist. "Called it! Four for four now."

She handed my sketchbook back, smiling at me honestly. "What can you do with your eyes closed?"

"Well, I've never really experimented, but I can give it a shot, sure."

"Wait." Trent smacked my thigh. "Ant. Oh. Hold on. That might've been blood from you clawing at your scalp. Or your meatloaf oatmeal… thing."

I flipped my Beth sketch over and shut my eyes tight, trying to picture the straight edges and ruffled hair of Trent's face in my mind. Not bad, I figured when I was done. Okay, so I'd drawn his hair over his mouth like a mustache and his eyes were hanging off his face and his nose was floating too far left in empty air, but it was decent. It was obviously supposed to be Trent, which was pretty much all I'd been going for. We exchanged high-fives. Beth chuckled and took her bust back.

"No, seriously. How did you get so good?"

"Uh… Y'know. Same as anyone else. I was just born with dormant genes for this. Drawing, sculpting, cheesy video special effects… Pretty much, if it's some kind of visual, especially when it's an arts-and-crafty sort of thing, chances are I've taken a whack at it, heh heh." I smiled. "Actually, I was trying to carve some chess pieces right before I came here. I think I'll scrap what I have and start over with figures of all of us."

"Really? That would be _so_ cool. You'll totally have to invite me over to play you someday- I'd love to see it. I'm good with sculpture, but – heh – I'm not _that_ good. Can I take a peek at the rest of your work?"

"Mm… I don't know…"

"Oh." She looked down. "I understand. It's all right. Oh! Hang on- Ant!" She lunged forward to give my forehead a solid swat. "Got it."

Trent squinted. "Wait, _where_ did you see it?"

Beth ignored his question. "So, how long have you been drawing?"

"Eh, only a little while. Maybe four years. Like I said, it's my primary gift." I glanced at her trembling fingers. "Um, I guess you can look through my book if you really want to. Just try not to bend any pages. I wanna get those scanned in when I get home."

"I'll be careful. Gee. Are you considering a career in this sort of thing? You should." She tapped my rough outline of Eva chasing Ezekiel around the Bass cabin. "I'd really like to see this one finished. You got their eyes _down_."

I shrugged. "I dunno. It seems kind of like cheating to try making a career of it, y'know? And I don't know if I'd have the patience for that anyway, heh heh. Even if it is my gift, I've never been the type who can sit still for too long. Besides that, I'd really like to push myself to accomplish something that wasn't handed to me on a silver platter. I think I'll go into technology. Actually, one of my dreams is to open my own amusement park."

Well, and to marry Gwen, but I figured Trent didn't need to hear that.

"Silver platter?" She giggled. "Sure, because that happens. Don't sell yourself short, Cody. I mean, I've been a casual doodler since I was five, but I never came _close_ to your level even giving it my all. Hard work is nothing to sneeze at. You really need to take a step back and appreciate what you've got. You have crazy skills for our age. It's incredible!"

I glanced at Trent. He glanced at me, his head tilted to one side. "Beth," I said, my mind working at one speed and my mouth another, "You… _have_ taken human biology, right?"

She shook her head. "I start that next year. Weird story, actually- I tried to sign up, but the school counselor shuffled me into wildlife biology by mistake. But I was okay with that, because Presley Jordan was in biology and I hate her. If we'd been partners, I have no doubt that she would've made me hold the frog _and_ the knife."

"But, um, you know about…" I made a vague swirly motion next to my head. "What I meant when I said I had an art gift."

She frowned. "Like, you're just unfairly super talented somehow?"

"Lindsay? Beth?" Heather's desperate call echoed across the campground from the general direction of the bathrooms. "Are either of you still awake? Ow, ow! I could use some help putting the bite cream on my back! Oh my- Chef, _no_! Don't you dare!"

Beth paled. "I'll be right back."

The instant the door swung shut behind her, I whirled on Trent. "Did you hear her? She doesn't know! She thinks I'm joking! How can she not know? I mean, I know she grew up out on a farm, but she still goes to public school and she has to have read a _book_ before…"

Trent swallowed. "Cody? We're going to have to give her the… the puberty talk."

"No!" I swept my arms back and forth in front of me. "Oh my gosh, no, I can't do this."

"You want _Duncan_ to find out and do it?" Trent rubbed behind his left ear. "Dude, I don't know, just use the cartoon physics euphemism or something."

I slammed my face into my hands. "And here I thought Ezekiel was homeschooled."

"It can't possibly go as badly as you're trying to make it sound. At least we aren't giving her the sex talk. Now, if it were Lindsay who were out here…"

"But she's a _girl_. I can't talk puberty with a girl!"

I heard Trent scratching his hair. "Well, I guess it'll give you good practice for the future when you have daughters of your own."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I jerked my head up, glaring daggers. "Cody isn't manly enough to have a son?"

"Dude, what?"

With a hiss, I clamped my palms to my cheeks once again. "Ugh, that came out sounding like Zeke. Forget it. I'm sorry, man. I'm functioning on forty-five minutes of sleep here and I'm really starting to stress over the fact that I could go into anaphylactic shock at any moment and I have a huge peanut butter craving and I'm trying to puzzle out why we have an infirmary on the other side of the island but apparently no EpiPens at camp now that Noah's gone, and I can't do this right now."

"Buddy, it's okay, calm down. You can take your hands off your head. It's just me here. I'm not going to hurt you. Oh, crap!" He drew back his hand and lashed me across the cheek. "Ow," I whimpered, and Trent started brushing through my hair. "Man oh man, Code, I don't know where all these things keep coming from. I haven't found even one on me."

"And I really don't get how I'm still alive. Maybe they… don't… bite?" Could you de-fang an ant? I wouldn't put it past Harold to try.

Or… maybe Trent had hit me on purpose? I mean, his crush on Gwen was pretty obvious, and I wasn't the most subtle of lovestruck puppies either… But even if he did have green eyes out for me, he wouldn't do that, right? We were tight, right?

Trent froze, his fingers still tight in my hair. "Dude. You seriously need to take a shower. You have crumbs, like, _all_ over you."

"Owen. B-bear hugs. Our cookie stash." I eyed the ground in front of the door. Tiny red dots skittered about, ducking in and out of floorboard cracks and heading vaguely in my direction. Whimpering a second time, I scrubbed my hands all over my hair, shedding crumbs like snowflakes. "Whataya say, Trent? Help a bud out and carry me up to the bathrooms?"

He scratched his neck beneath his ear. "Uh… I… guess?"

Trent reached out his hands, pulled them back, and then shook his head and scooped me up. He had one hand beneath my shoulders and the other beneath the backs of my knees. Undeniably bridal style. I really hoped Duncan wouldn't walk in on us. So far, he'd brought up the sleeping-Noah-cuddles-up-to-sleeping-Cody incident at least once every day. I was pretty sure he was going to stop taking my word on my own sexuality if this type of humiliation became routine.

I opened the door a crack as Trent brought me close. "Can we hurry?" he begged, shifting his feet. "The ants are chewing on my shoelaces. I think they're part termite."

"All clear. Let's move, dude. M-"

"If you say 'Mush', I'm dropping you right now."

We made it about seven steps before we heard Heather scream again. "Oh," I said as we exchanged grimaces. "Right, she's in there with the… Forget it. I can deal."

"Should we risk the sharks and try the lake?"

"No! No! I'm okay, seriously." I tapped his shoulder, with its scabbed-over flesh that hadn't fully healed since last night's encounter with Heather's nails. "Sorry, dude, but you're a freaking pain magnet. I don't want you bleeding anywhere near me, heh heh."

Trent tightened his lips and said nothing.

We went back to the lodge and Trent, after using his shoe to smash a pair of ants, set me on the bench again. "Well," he said, scrubbing his ankles, "now what d'you want to do?"

"Honestly? I just want to go to sleep." I put my head on my arms, but Trent shook my shoulder.

"Oh no, dude! Chef's not back yet and I can't play Ant Duty all night. I'll pass out without someone to talk to."

I rubbed my hair again and stared heavy-lidded at my open sketchbook. "Ugh… What do you wanna tell Beth when she comes back?"

" _If_ she comes back. Knowing Heather, she might have her rubbing cream on her spine all night."

"But knowing Beth, I don't think it'll come to that. Anyway, eight weeks on an island full of teens still just breaking theirs in, she's bound to ask sooner or later."

"Right. And we don't want Duncan traumatizing her for life when that happens." Trent sighed. "How did your parents spill it to you?"

"They didn't. I had friends. I don't think they were worried it would be awkward to do the whole, 'And remember that you can always talk to us as interesting things develop in your body' bit or anything- I think they honestly just forgot." I sighed. "They even forgot my birthday this year, too. Yours?"

Trent tapped a nail against his teeth. "I always kinda grew up with it. Two older brothers, two younger sisters. Didn't take long for word to get around that Dad can count things instantly and Mom is, as you so kindly put it, 'a freaking pain magnet'."

"Ah. Only child. I got a pretty lucky shuffle, though. My secondaries are quick healing and some skills with electric stuff."

"Wait. Wait." Trent put up his hands. "Don't tell me _you're_ supposed to have a technology gift."

"Why are you laughing?" I glowered at him, but when he just grinned and rolled his eyes, I gave up. "Okay, so it's not an electronics thing, exactly. It's static electricity. I static things. Not as well as my dad, obviously, but it has its uses. You saw me with the dodgeball."

"Is that also what happened to Gwen's electric toothbrush?"

My eyes flew wide- I could even feel it. I clapped my hand over Trent's mouth. "Dude, shut up! No one can ever know that was me."

Trent peeled my palm away. "Hey, no biggie, man. I made sure it was in better condition than you left it before it got back to her."

"Seriously? Oh man, you're a lifesaver." An ant had materialized a few inches from his elbow (The crumbs in my hair, or his magnetism for pain after all?), so I blew it off the table. "So, um, what about you? Is your primary the music thing then, or…?"

"What?" I must have struck some sort of nerve, because Trent's expression went super offended super fast. " _No_. My guitar skills are natural talent I worked for years to teach myself. Mine is-"

We both swung around as Beth came back in, rubbing down her arm with white goop that smelled a lot more like toothpaste than bite cream. I kicked Trent's ankle. He kicked both my ankles, I winced harder than I'd like to admit, and he stammered, "Oh man, sorry! Sorry!"

Conceding defeat, I bit my lip as Beth dropped back into her seat across the table.

"Twenty-three," she said, grinning like Chris with a new bottle of hair gel. "That's how many ant bites Heather is scratching at right now. And those are just the ones on her back. I think a whole bunch got stuck in her bra."

"Heh heh ha. Well, better her than me. Oh- Not that I wear bras, I didn't mean it like that! I didn't mean that at all! Shoot! I just… y'know, allergies, heh heh. Wait, but… wasn't she wearing her paja…? Do girls usually sleep with…?"

"Heather always does, because she likes to keep some of her things in there that she doesn't want the rest of us to steal. I don't."

"Does Gwen?"

"Easy, dude," Trent growled, and Beth gave me a puzzled blink and said, "How should I know?"

"Sorry. Just wondering." I was so screwed if that was the case. Maybe I'd be doing Owen's dishes after all.

When Beth bent down to pick up some green beads that had slipped from her bracelet, Trent caught my eye and nodded her way. I swallowed dry nothingness.

"Um, hey. Beth? Can we talk about something… weird?" As she sat up, I looked for a thread on my sleeve to pick at, but didn't find one. "I-it's about my art skills. And Heather's retractable fingernails. And Owen's hair. And Justin. And a whole bunch of other things that Trent wants to say too."

This time, he didn't apologize when he kicked my foot.

Beth lifted her glasses up her forehead and squinted at me. "I'm really sorry. Heather's yelps are still ringing in my ears. You think she has what now?"

"A retractable set of nails just under her regular ones." Trent reached across the table, upturning his hands and making little twitches with his fingers. "Like cat claws. In and out with a flick. Curled into points at the tips, all eight of them."

I said, "Remember two nights ago during dinner when she was stacking on all the olives?"

"No…"

"You were sitting by Justin," Trent remembered, patting his scabbed shoulder. "And those _hurt_ , too."

"Retractable… Um, okay. Fair enough. I always thought it was weird that her fingertips have slits in them. Is that what she does with the file all day?" Beth mimed sawing at her hand. "Gee, those must have cost her a fortune."

I coughed into my fist. "It's a little more than just that. Y'know, well, so it's like…"

Trent, you owe me huge for this.

"When you're, um… being, y'know, developed inside your mom's uterus, you kinda get these genes that stay dormant during childhood. Then when you become a teen and your body starts going through hormonal changes, things… happen and those genes switch on."

"Cody," Beth said, very calmly, "As much as I appreciate your concern, I'm going to get up and leave now. I didn't take human biology, but that doesn't mean I'm clueless about sex."

I snagged her elbow before she could stand. "No, please don't go away thinking that of me! We're not talking about that. I need to finish. Foot-in-the-door phenomenon! I haven't even gotten to the part about Justin yet! Wait, Trent wants to explain!"

"Uh…" Trent shook his hands. "You were doing great, man. I'm not sure I have anything to add to that."

Beth glanced over her shoulder and through the nearest window. Maybe she saw Heather out there, or maybe it was Duncan or Chef or Chris, or maybe there was nobody. She took her wrist back from me and said, "All right, I gotta admit, I really wanna know where you guys are trying to go with this."

Where _was_ I trying to go with this?

I grabbed Trent's bare arm and laid it across the table in front of me. "Here, check it."

"Cody, what are you- _Ow_!"

I continued to walk my fingers up to the crook of his arm, sparking audibly with every touch. When I finally let him go, Trent jerked away down the bench and Beth was sitting there with her head tilted to the right.

"You just static-shocked him, like… fourteen times."

"Eighteen," Trent corrected, rubbing the sore spots. "Dude, you could've warned me you were going to do that."

"I can always static shock people," I said, ignoring him and facing Beth again. "Any time I want. Always. See, what I'm trying to say is… it's a little gift of mine. I don't just mean talent. I mean, well, obviously. I actually mean _gift_. As in, 'something given'. Pretty much, I woke up one day, and… it was there. Well, sort of. It kinda developed over time, since I have the additive subtype. There are three- additives, or the kind that start out small and then grow with years and practice; restrictives, or the kind that show up huge and you have to kinda prune or repress them if they start to interfere with your social life; and stable types, which are the kind that never turn off no matter how hard you try."

Beth looked at me, looked at Trent, and then looked under the table as though searching for wires and hidden strings. I sighed.

"Here." I rustled through my sketchbook until I found a bust of Heather done in red ink. Despite the fact that it was Heather and not Gwen, it was probably one of my favorites because I'd actually managed to capture all the wispy strands of her hair flowing over her neck and shoulders, and sharply accent the haughty look in her narrow, dark eyes.

"Look, Beth. My primary gift is art. I've never taken drawing classes. I don't need to, heh. I mean, I would if I wanted to get like, incredible, but it's just a casual side thing for me, y'know? It's enough for me to be happy. And so when I pick up my pens… this happens. I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at this, dude. The light just clicked for me after puberty. It's like magic."

Trent nodded his agreement, because Beth's brows had pinched together like she was considering how well the team would fare in upcoming challenges if she got us both sent to the monkey house. Brushing a red ant from her chest, she said, "Okay, so 'primary' means first. So you have other gifts too, I guess?"

"Heh heh, now you're getting it." I put my sketchbook back down. "Actually, there are two kinds of gifts. There are primaries, which develop specifically to you, from your individual personality and hormones as you near puberty. And there are secondaries, which get passed down from your parents. Like, my dad has the gift for static electricity. He shocks people too, stronger than I can and- and, um, stuff. I've seen him charge batteries. Or he claims he can, at least. But the gift gets diluted as it gets passed down to the next generation, so I can just do the simple static thing."

"You're freaking magic."

"Um, sure. We'll go with that, if that's easier." I scratched my forehead. "So, say that your primary was ant-whispering, or something. If you and I ever had a kid, then he'd get that trait too when he becomes a teen, except to a lesser degree than you have it, and he'd also get my art skills, to a lesser degree than me. That's a secondary."

"If you and I ever had a kid?"

I flushed so furiously that I could feel the static gathering in my hair. "Gah! Did I say that? Sorry! Sorry! Oh man, I'm sorry!"

"No, it's fine." She started to blush too. "Actually-"

"It's going to take me a long time to clear that image out of my brain." I shook my head anyway, trying to throw the scraps into the furthest corners of the dining hall. "I am _so_ sorry, Beth. I didn't even realize how wrong that sounded until it came out."

"Oh." She leaned back on the bench, studying me with a thin frown. "All right. So let's suppose you _were_ magic. Why haven't I noticed this before?"

"But…" I glanced helplessly at Trent. "You have though, right? I-I mean, take Justin, for instance. One careless smile or flirtatious wink and he has half you girls drooling over him, following on his heels just because he can glow and his skin is unnaturally warm to the touch."

"Wait, but that's just in my head, right?"

Trent lifted one eyebrow. "You didn't think _any_ thing about his ability to evaporate water or grill cheese sandwiches just by being near them?"

"I just thought he was an insanely hot guy," she protested, her cheeks lighting up pink like sunburn.

I snorted. "Right, and Noah's brain just _happens_ to reboot when you feed him candy corn."

She stared at me, horrified. "How is that… What does that even mean?"

"Hm? Oh, it's his lingual memory retrieval. Anything with English words, letter for letter, punctuation for punctuation. It's sweet. Like, he doesn't even get lethologica unless you supersaturate him with corn syrup and honey. One of these days the smell alone will make him go braindead and gooey-eyed, I swear. But he thinks the effortless recall is cheating, so when we played Scrabble he made sure his glutamate were sufficiently… Oh my gosh, it's been too long since I've heard from my mom, hasn't it?" I scratched my ear. "Th-that's my typical defense mechanism for loneliness. Um, watered-down version is, it seems to me like he has a few neurotransmitters or villi that are super-sensitive to the point that he more or less gets drunk off the stuff, basically. Sort of. Not really, but sort of. Heh heh."

They were both looking at me now, and the last thing I wanted was for either of them to think I was the expert on Noah. I cleared my throat. "H-he was telling me about it the other day. I probably didn't say it right and I'm sure he can explain it better than me. The people-geek in me thought it was super interesting though, so you should totally ask. Uh, did I mention that Heather has retractable fingernails?"

"I…" Trent said, "don't… have… words anymore. I've heard of people needing to eat tons of protein to keep up lightning-fast reactions and stuff like that, but I'm pretty sure _that's_ … not an actual thing."

Beth's knuckles had turned white on the edge of the table. She shifted her eyes between the two of us, her tongue sticking from her mouth like a tiny pink dot.

"Okay, no." She started to stand, arms high. "I'm done. Joke's on me, I get it. I call witchcraft conspiracy theories. I may not be the sharpest camper in the cabin, but not even I am _this_ gullible. When you two decide to stop picking on me, I'll be scratching pieces of my ant-bitten skin down the shower drains."

"Who does witchcraft?" The main door opened again, and Harold blinked at us with owlish green eyes. "Hey, sweet! Duncan was actually right for once; it happened on its own after all. We have the numbers geek" – he pointed to Beth with the handle of his broom – "the techie" – he pointed to Trent – "the psychologist kid" – yours truly – "and the fact guru. Ha. And if that idiot dodgeball guy from your team were still here, we'd have a grammar Nazi too, and we'd all be nerds together under the same roof! We'd be unstoppable."

Trent… looked like he wanted to die. "Dude, I am _not_ one of you people."

"Actually, Harold…" I jabbed a thumb at my chest. " _I'm_ kinda the technician of the gang."

Trent, Harold, and even Beth exchanged looks amongst themselves, and burst into laughter. "What?" I cried, sorely wounded. "It's true! Flipping into Mom-speak for like five seconds doesn't mean you should just completely write me off as the local brain nerd."

"It's not that, dude." Trent wiped a tear from one eye with his thumb. "I haven't learned how to mess with wires to save my soul yet, but I can at least modify things with gears and wrenches. You, on the other hand, destroy anything electrical or battery-powered with a single static touch. Need I remind you about the toothbrush incident? There's a reason Justin never let you come in when he was holding the blow-dryer."

"I build things! I can sculpt! Beth, tell them how I carved Gwen's face out of that broken canoe."

Beth took her hand off the doorknob and folded her arms. "Harold, Cody's convinced he turned into a magical artist after puberty."

"Really?" Harold tossed his broom in the corner and started looking for the orange bin to empty the dustpan. "Is that your primary? Are you good? Can you draw me?"

Leaving Beth gasping disbelieving gasps, I took my thin pen and started scribbling in lines. Trent watched over my shoulder, shaking his head. When I was done a minute or two later, I tore the page out and handed it to Harold. "Awesome," he said, then frowned. "Why did you put Bridgette in it?"

"I don't know. You guys on your cabin porch tonight was just the first image that popped into my head when I thought 'Harold'."

"But I beat-boxed today and single-handedly won the challenge for my team! Plus I'm standing right in front of you. Where's that in your hippocampus?"

I shrugged. "Muse is muse."

"Then…" Beth looked at Trent the same way I'd seen Courtney look at the jelly plate Owen and I had snuck from Chef's kitchen last week. "What's your, uh, 'special gift'?"

"I mash things together with other things." He saw her blink of surprise and chuckled. Leaning forward against his crossed arms, he said, "I'm kind of a repairman when it comes to metal and gears, but mostly I have a knack for improving stuff. Like, first hour here I reinforced the underside of Owen's bunk with some scraps of iron I found in the arts-and-crafts shed so it wouldn't collapse in on him. And I'm the one who made the communal showers run hot water."

"That was you?" Harold reached out his hands for double high-fives. "Gosh. Chris was _furious_ about that on Awake-a-Thon day. We convinced him it was the loving labor of a very smart chipmunk."

"Sick move, dude. Way to rock it. Gimme some up top."

"Eh, pipes aren't new terrain to me." Trent grinned. "I once messed with every drinking fountains in my school so they would all squirt out sip-sized drips to the tune of 'She Would Be Loved' to ask this girl to a homecoming dance. After that, my buddies dared me to run for student body vice president and I took it home, easy. If I win the hundred grand, I'm going to use some of that money to attach helicopter blades to my motorcycle." He twisted his hands up and down imaginary handlebars. " _Vrrm, vrrm_."

I poked him in the shin with my big toe. "See? You're totally one of us geeky people, heh heh."

"Ha. Yeah right."

Beth grimaced. "I wish you'd improve Heather's niceness."

He fanned away a yawn. "Sorry. I can't modify anything that isn't already there. Plus, humans are on a whole different level from my department."

"You'd probably be better off talking to Geoff," Harold said. "By this point, I'm 99% sure he got the gift for people-whispering and stuff."

"You think so?" I put down my pen. "Me and Owen were speculating he's uber-sensitive to pain. Did you see him this morning when he stubbed his toe on that branch? He rolled around in the sand for about ten minutes."

That made Beth's grimace turn to a scowl. "Why would anyone want to be uber-sensitive to pain?"

Trent shrugged. "You don't. Sometimes you just get a doozy."

Harold said, "And maybe that's just a side-effect of something else. Even when someone tells you how their gift works, you never really know _everything_. Like, Katie and Sadie yesterday were playing Go-Fish with Justin and stuff, and they never found the eight of clubs or the queen of hearts. I suspect he used his alleged 'hotness' to set them on fire when he realized he was going to lose. I followed him to the woods when he called bathroom break and watched him like an eagle the whole time. He put his hands behind his back as we walked past Gwen, and when he took them out again, he had soot on his fingers and everything smelled like smoke."

Trent made a 'hmph' sound and squashed an ant beneath his thumb. "What's yours, Harold?"

"Feh!" He planted one hand on his chest. "As if I'd reveal that to the likes of you. I've read _Lord of the Flies_ and seen all the episodes of Zimbardo's Human Zoo three times. You're all Gophers. I don't want any of you to exploit my weaknesses against me."

"Aw, c'mon," I protested, "I shared mine. I even gave you a free demonstration!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm permanently up-wind unless I breathe through my nose, _gaw-awsh_. But that's the only clue you're wheedling out of me. And it definitely doesn't make my wizard's cloak billow epically on game night or nearly almost probably give me the chance to hover when I concentrate really hard on stormy days."

"Wind." Beth said the word like she was sounding it out to a child. "You, a regular, mortal human, was born with the power to control the _wind_."

Harold frowned. Looking to us, he said, "She has taken biology, right?"

"Trent and I gave her the puberty talk just now." Beth's eyes flashed with hurt at that, but I forged on anyway. "She had no idea this was even a thing, and no clue what her trio might be."

"Nada," Trent agreed around another yawn.

"Are you serious?" He drew a few paces away as if he thought her ignorance were contagious. "How does that happen?"

"I don't know! I'm an only child with no friends and I live on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Apparently the fact that I possess some kind of secret supernatural power just never came up. In defense of my parents, it doesn't sound like the easiest thing to bring into casual conversation." She scowled up at Harold. "So, what, you can whip up a storm on command for crushing all your enemies in a single blow?"

He raised one very condescending eyebrow. "How exactly do you think this works?"

I winced in silent sympathy for her. At least I'd had some classmates to give me the lion-tamer metaphor when my parents had slacked off.

"It can't be supernatural if everyone has _some_ thing," Trent pointed out, patting her hand. "It's just the way the world works."

She bit hard into her lower lip and squeezed her eyes to accusing slits. "But… you guys have figured out everyone else's gift, and we've only been on the island a few days. Don't you have any guesses for mine?"

"I'm not sure." I tried to think back through the past week for anything Beth had done that had struck me as odd or unique. "It's not like we have everyone's gift pinned down and settled already. We're just throwing out guesses. That's kind of what you do when you meet new people, y'know? You check out who's hot, who'd make a good bud, who's hiding a trio you don't want to be on the receiving end of… Heather's talons come to mind."

"Biggest plot twist of my freaking life," mumbled Trent, reaching for his shoulder again.

"Hey, at least she got the tick, dude. Count your blessings."

Harold tapped his chin. "Maybe your gift is immortality. I've never heard of that one, but I've always thought it would be sweet. But you'd never know until you lived forever. And, well… you can see the logic flaw in claiming that until you do. Ooh, Cody- move your hand!"

I leapt to my feet, grabbing my wrist as Harold bent forward. "Kill it! Quick, kill it, dude!"

"Don't any of you dare." Harold cupped a hand over the ant and made shushing noises. "There, baby, I've got you now. Give Daddy a little sugar. We'll make you a new farm and keep you away from that big, nasty Gwen, yes we will."

Trent peered over my shoulder. "Um, Harold?"

" _Yow_!" Spitting, Harold jerked away, tripped over his own feet, and collapsed in a bony heap on the floor. "What the- That's not one of mine!"

"Hold on. Can I try something here?" Without waiting for an answer, Beth leaned across the table. "Aw, hey there, little ant. Aren't you so cute? Um, my friend there is really allergic to you, so just go back to your nest now, okay? And tell your friends to hop along with you."

The ant fell off the table.

"Holy smokes, it worked!" Beth clapped her hands. "My gift _is_ ant-whispering! That is pretty much the worst thing ever but I don't even care anymore. I found my thing! I feel like a part of me that I didn't realize I'd lost was just restored to me."

I didn't sit back down, or let go of my wrist. "I'm pretty sure that was just your breathing, Beth."

"There's a girl in my apartment complex that attracts animals with her singing," Trent told us helpfully. "She just turned thirteen last Christmas and I stopped by to wish her a happy birthday. Long story short, I've been raising a swan in my bathtub for the past five months. His name is Cleopatra."

Beth hung her head. That made me feel a bit like a jerk, so I took her hands in mine. "Hang on. You did go and get my sketchbook despite the ants. And you told Owen that Noah was hurt while on the 20K. You're even nice to Heather. Y'know? Maybe your primary is being kind to others, heh heh."

She didn't look up from the table. "Trust me, that's not it at all."

Um.

I licked the backs of my teeth. "Uh, one of the Bass had an awesome one, though. About eating."

"Oh, I know this." Trent gave his forehead a few solid slaps. "That's Tyler, right?"

"No," Harold interjected, "he has his super finger thing. He was telling us about that last night- he has quite the intriguing tale, because his genetics kicked in like, real early and the doctors never figured out why. Between you and me, I think that's why he's so top-heavy and stuff."

I rubbed my temples. "I'm pretty sure it was Zeke. Yeah. Now, what was his, exactly? He said it to Harold over lunch that first day when you guys were talking about Chef's cooking. It was… It was…"

Surprisingly, it was Trent who snapped his fingers. "He's almost positive that he's immune to food poisoning."

"That was it. 'Wicked stomach lining'." I stared down the table at my discarded bowl of mush and gave a tiny shiver. "I wish I had that one right about now, heh heh."

Beth followed my gaze, then looked up at me again. A tiny smile crept over her face. "You know, we could probably sneak something good out of Chef's kitchen. Especially now that I know you're all wizards. He's probably still at the craft services tent with Chris."

Harold clucked his tongue. "Gosh. Don't tell me you guys gave her the magic euphemism."

"It only takes a few seconds," Beth coaxed, because she could sense that I was wavering. "You just have to make sure Chef's out. Of course, I usually do this with Izzy, but…"

Trent's eyes widened. "Whoa, is that how she got all those muffins? You're a little criminal in the making, aren't you? Here I thought you were just friendship bracelets and butterflies."

She shrugged. "I told you my gift wasn't niceness. I'm a Neutral Good, not a Lawful."

"Oh, no. No, no, no." Trent got to his feet, arms up, and backed away from the table and around towards the door. "I am not getting dragged into this. It's bad enough that I was a witness when Heather dove out the window with the chocolate bars."

"Trent," she protested, "Come back! I still haven't figured out what my gift is yet!"

He rubbed his palms against his eyes. "Aw, geez. Look. Some people pick up on their gift instantly, and others go through life never figuring theirs out. It's going to take time, Beth. You can at least wait 'til morning. I'm cold and I'm tired, and I brought my good pillow to camp and I haven't had the chance to use it once yet. If you want to risk getting on Chef's bad side, that's your own dandruff to deal with. But I for one _refuse_ to break a cardinal rule and risk automatic elimination. Count me out."

I widened my eyes. "But the ants."

"I'd take a few nips over getting caught breaking rules on camera. That's not how I want the audience to see me."

"Same." Harold looked unhappily at his hands, then stood. "I'm no idiot. Chef's kitchen is his castle, and you could get caught. I'd advise you both to stay well away from it. Now, I'd better get back before Duncan wakes up and decides to stuff my pillow down the septic tank or something. I hope you don't give me a reason to say 'I told you so' come morning."

And with that, we were left alone. Why couldn't it be with Gwen?

Beth gave me a half-hearted glance. "Well, Cody? You up for playing smugglers?"

"Thanks, Beth." I gathered my pens and book back together and climbed onto the table. "Don't get me wrong- I appreciate the offer, but the guys had the right idea. It's getting late, and we could still have a challenge in the morning. The only thing I want to do right now is go to sleep. Tomorrow though, okay? We can grab some bread and soda for a picnic lunch or something."

"You're not going to lie on that table all night, are you?"

"Do I have a choice?" I gestured at ants milling around below. "I'm probably safer up here than I would be at the beach."

Beth stood against the wall, tapping her forefinger against her lip for a long time and sizing me up as I tried to make myself comfortable on the wood. Finally she said, "I can get you a real bed."

I raised my head. "Where? In your cabin? Hey, as much as I love the idea of being surrounded by sleeping girls, that place is ground zero for ant infestation right now, heh heh."

Beth placed one hand on her hip and held her elbow out to me. "Trust me. Warm sheets. A fluffy pillow. And pretty much guaranteed to be ant-free."

Frowning, I slid tentatively to the floor. "And where would this magical place be?"

"The Bass cabin."

"So, Duncan's cabin. This is better, how?"

She pointed to an ant that had crawled onto the table. "Do you have much of a choice? I mean, this is basically life or death, right?"

Trying not to let her see my hesitation, I linked my arm through hers. "Uh, are you sure about this?"

"Mostly."

I kept running that reassurance through my head as we tentatively (at least on my part) crossed the campground and leapt onto the Bass porch. Still, I decided to take two steps back as Beth tried the knob on the boys' side. It was, unsurprisingly, locked to prevent Chris, Chef, or creepy interns (Hi, Gideon) from poking around while they slept. Beth and I showed each other our crossed fingers and anxious grins, and she took to pounding on the wood.

A startled yelp. I swore I heard the word "Cops". But then a groan, then a slap of feet, then a shuffle of dragging steps. Beth drew back as the door jerked inward. Duncan himself materialized in the entrance, stripped down to white boxers (Beth's face turned pink again), one rough hand braced on either side of the doorframe. His bleary blue eyes flicked several times between the two of us.

"You dweebs had better have an awfully good reason for shaking me out of bed at half past midnight. If this costs my team the challenge tomorrow, I'll tie your lips together so hard, even Casanova here won't like it."

I decided I wouldn't say anything, then. As nice as I expected kissing to be, I could do better than Beth for my first one.

Beth put her arm in front of my chest, staring unflinchingly up at him. "Cody here is deathly allergic to red ants, and Gwen set Harold's whole farm of them loose in the Gopher cabin to get back at Heather for the diary thing. He needs a safe place to sleep tonight."

"Are you serious?" Duncan took one hand from the door, and I saw steel glint in the moonlight. He gestured left and right and up and everywhere with his knife. "Sleep in the grass! In the lodge! On the dock! It's a free campground."

I bit my lip. "Um, Beth? Maybe I should-"

"He deserves a pillow and blankets as much as anyone. Besides, the ants are everywhere now. It's only for a few hours. Tomorrow our cabin will be dumped out and swept up. I'll make sure of it myself."

Duncan looked me up and down. "Yeah, I don't think so. If memory serves, I remember him getting cozy with the dodgeball-dodger last week."

"Dude!" I put up my hands. "That was all him, and we were both dead asleep. I took a looooong shower when it was over. Trust me, I'm straight. _Very_ straight, heh heh."

He gave Beth a puzzled once-over, then glanced back at me with pure disappointment dripping from his eyes. Still safely tucked behind her back and out of her line of sight, I mimed retching in the grass.

"Come on," she wheedled, "it's a small price to pay for Heather going nuts. Cody doesn't even snore." She paused. "You don't snore, do you, Cody?"

"Sure. Whatever." Duncan hooked a thumb over his shoulder to a set of bunk-beds on the left. Geoff lay curled in a nest on the top, his hat tipped down over his face. But the blankets on the bottom were neatly folded and untouched. Evidently the Bass boys hadn't taken advantage of the extra space for candy-stashing the way Owen and I had with Noah's. "Smooth-Move, you can take Homeschool's bunk. But I hear one lip out of you…"

He gave a quick slice with his knife and a chunk of wood from the wall bounced across the floor. I managed some hasty nods, and with a grunt Duncan trailed back to his bed. He kicked the lower bunk hard (Harold was already bundled into it, going at imaginary logs with a chainsaw). Nearby, DJ chuckled in his sleep.

Beth patted my shoulder. "Sleep tight, Cody. Don't let the red ants bite, okay?"

I turned around, snagging her wrist before she could jump down more than one step. "Hey Beth, maybe your primary is-"

Beth winked. "Oh, sweet-talking's no gift. That comes naturally."

She blew me a kiss as she skipped back to her ant-infested cabin, where Heather stood glowering in the doorway. The bravest girl in all of camp.

* * *

 **A/N:** What happens when two people of similar dangerous gifts have a kid together? Enter Mickey and Jay. Also, Trent freaking out about not wanting to break a "cardinal rule of camp" is a nod to his being originally scheduled to be kicked off the island for breaking one in the early stages of script development.


End file.
